


Yes, Your Majesty

by nicholas_de_vilance



Series: Yes, Your Majesty [1]
Category: Alice (2009)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicholas_de_vilance/pseuds/nicholas_de_vilance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hatter knew a girl...Carlotta St. Delaware...huh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Your Majesty

“Yes! Your Majesty!” Hatter laughed to himself, spinning his hat on and off his head, “‘Bow as you think, Good Sir! It saves Time.’ You stupid cow! Time doesn’t want to be saved! He could care less to be used, wasted, stopped or ignored, let alone saved!” Stumbling over the flowers of his office and past the couch, he laughed a little bit more.

            The woman was still here. Not “Your Majesty,” good heavens no! There would be a world-wide incident if all those things he’d done last night had been done with Queen Bitch. Standing in the doorway to the bedroom, bare toes curling in the grass, was the woman that _those things_ had indeed been done with. Wonderful things they were, as well. She was beautiful, in that conventional way—it was such that she wasn’t spectacular in any physical sense: miles of wavy blond hair, full red lips, big gold eyes, and underneath that thin, skimpy, satin robe, endlessness of supple, luscious flesh. With a hand propped on her hip and long lashes hooded over her twinkling eyes, she seemed almost predatory.

            “So…” she began, lovely voice drawing him closer. “How did it go?”

            “Oh, lovely,” he reported, sarcasm and levity clashing. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his hat very precisely on the rack next to his clear-door wardrobe. “They’ve done it again, miserable songbirds. They’ve snagged a new wonder. A brand new tea for me to poison you good people with.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes, that _marvelous_ economy of ours has discovered all sorts of innovative, more depraved ways to use and torture and destroy those innocent creatures to satisfy the blood-hungry monsters we call consumers. Progress, I suppose.” He stopped his advance directly in front of her and planted both of his hands on both sides of the door frame. It was obvious that he grouped her in this group, by the almost accusing way that he looked at her—still amused, though he may have been. As far as he was concerned, she was a glorious sexual being along with a rabid, insatiable tea-head.

            A smile drew those dark, painted lips over pearl-white fangs. “What would the Queen do to you if she found out that you’re a dirty Oyster-sympathizer?” She leaned up and nipped sharply at his jaw, making him hiss.

            “I’m dirty, am I?”

            “Absolutely filthy,” she maintained firmly, mock disgust and reprimand coloring her tone all shades of seductive. She reached up a hand and stroked it down over the sleeve on his right arm. When she felt the shivers from her touch, her eyes narrowed.

            “Oi, Carlotta…” he sighed, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

            Running her fingers up his chest and shoulders to slide his coat off, she gripped his tie and pulled him down into a kiss. “Maybe that’s the idea,” she breathed before sneaking her tongue past his teeth.

            His morning had started out fairly dreadful; tea-heads getting rowdy, Dormie’s blasted narcolepsy interfering with the announcements, and suits summoning him to the Heart’s Casino at gunpoint—because that’s so much easier than just saying “Hey, Queen wants you.” Then, he had a verbal lashing from His Majesty Can’t Say Boo to His Wife about inventory records and consumer satisfaction reports. Afterward, he was honored with an audience with Her Majesty Manipulative Psychopath during which she had pretty much molested his brain with thoughts and images of his parents’ deaths as some sort of reminder for him to behave. All the while, that creep, March, stood to the side of the throne room with that freaky smile on his freaky face. Needless to say, Hatter was feeling a few degrees mad on his way home. Usually, her kiss breathed the sanity right back into him—which was why he kept her around like this—but he knew that it would take a little bit more today.

            “Are you busy?” she whispered against his lips.

            For a moment, he figured that he probably had a good five hours of work to get done before the end of the day to keep Queen Bitch happy and then some contacts to…well, contact for supplies for the resistance so that he could stay on good terms with Dodo. However, he knew quite well that he wouldn’t be able to focus on much more than treacle and tea cozies with his mind at this uncomfortable level of insanity, this out of control. He just looked at her, wondering at how he needed her, how addicted he was to her touch, her lips, her body, when he didn’t even love her. With his powerful right hand, he tugged the neck of her robe open a bit more and smirked.

            “Like I said: filthy,” she feathered her fingers through his messy hair and yanked his tie off.

            “I know, whatever will you do with me?”

            Silently, she moved him, insistent grip on his hair not quite enough to hurt but more than sufficient to bring him willingly to his knees. His grin widened as he looked up at her, hand sliding smoothly up her thighs beneath the satin; his thumbs stroked gently into the bare flesh just beneath her hip bones.

            “So eager to please, Hatter?” she teased him lightly.

            His eyes went alight with mischief—or maybe madness—and he bared his teeth in a sly grin. One of these days, this silly mockery of a relationship they had needed to end; he needed to get over his dependence on her touch, her dominance. One of these days, he’d stop being so keen to go to bed with her. One of these days wasn’t today. “Yes,” he let his tongue slip out and dart across his lips, “…your majesty.”


End file.
